


The Last Time Castiel Went All Dark and Stuff

by thinlizzy2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the curse to end all curses, and it listens to Evanescence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time Castiel Went All Dark and Stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/13273) by patriciatepes. 



> Written for the spn_bigpretzel Hallowe'en micro bang. Inspired by art by patriciatepes, who also did the banner. Thank to jaune_chat for being a great beta reader.

This, Castiel decided, was the curse to end all curses. This was far beyond the overwhelming cravings of Famine or the dangerous confessions that were Veritas’s calling card. This curse blighted the eyes and polluted the ears. It drove people, even those who had never before seemed so inclined, to drape themselves in trousers and long jackets made of the tanned skins of slaughtered animals and transformed his father’s most beautiful creations into a sea of identical chalky white faces. It was nothing he had ever seen before and nothing he could control. He didn’t even have a name for it.

Bobby called it ‘the fucking curse that turns people into goth douche-bags’.

Castiel supposed that would do.

To make matters even worse, they couldn’t even get help from the Winchesters. Because Sam and Dean - or, as they now preferred to be called, Raven and Draconis - had been among the very first victims.

Castiel had been surprised when Dean had first started wearing the studded collar. To the best of his knowledge, those accessories were generally reserved for canines rather than humans. He’d taken it upon himself to try to help by doing a bit of research, but entering _“Dean Winchester and dogs”_ into a Google search had brought up such intensely disturbing results that he’d needed to go to Heaven and be nothingness for a little while.

When he finally worked up the nerve to return, things had gotten much, much worse.

Sam had taken down all of his current research from the walls and replaced it with several posters of... a person. Castiel still wasn’t sure if they were a man or a woman. The name Marilyn, as far as he knew, tended to be given to female children, and Sam’s new fascination did have breasts in some of the images. Still, it was hard to be sure. He’d gone to Dean for help, only to find him engaged in a most curious task.

“The Impala is already black,” Castiel had pointed out. “There is no need to paint it... blacker.”

“It’s black, but it’s not, you know, _black_ ,” Dean had failed to explain. “It’s just ordinary black-black. I want it to be black as midnight. Black as the grave. Black as my soul.”

Castiel had tried explaining that Dean’s particular soul was actually mauve, with rather fetching periwinkle accents. But when Dean had narrowed his eyes and spat out that Castiel _just didn’t UNDERSTAND_ him, the angel was forced to agree. He’d gone back inside to find a rather agitated Bobby Singer on the phone to Ellen Harvelle. 

The curse had already started spreading across state lines.

***

Which led them to where they were now. Bobby was driving, since Dean had become prone to pulling off of the road to ruminate about the meaninglessness of life and death every time that they passed a bit of roadkill on the highway. There was, apparently, enough of the real Dean left for him to object to surrendering the steering wheel, but they had handily solved that problem by looping Tim Burton movies on Sam’s laptop. The Winchesters in the back seat were enthralled and quiet, but there were some negative side effects.

“The worst pies in Looooon-dooooon!” Castiel sung under his breath. 

Bobby shot him a furious look. “One more time, and I swear you’re flying there.”

It would have made a welcome break from his assigned task of foiling Sam and Dean’s attempts at piercing each other’s various facial bits, but this particular drive was fascinating to Castiel. During the day, it was as if every person under the age of forty had simply disappeared. The streets were half-empty, and those who _were_ out were middle-aged or older. They congregated in small groups on the street corners, talking in furious whispers and shooting nervous looks back at their own houses as curtains twitched and howling music blared from the windows.

And they were all gone by the time the sun went down. Then the city-scapes were transformed by hordes of teenagers and young adults clad in various articles of black clothing. Bobby rolled down the windows hoping for a reprieve once the Danny Elfman music from the back seat became too much, but there was no relief. Instead, the air became thick with the smell of clove cigarettes and an endless chant, repeated over and over no matter what miserable little town they were in.

_”It’s all about my individuality! They just don’t UNDERSTAND”_

“It’s like it came earlier this year,” Bobby commented.

Castiel stared at him. “This has happened before?”

“Naw, I just mean Hallowe’en. It’s not supposed to be for another couple of weeks, but it sure looks like Hallowe’en out there now.” 

Sam’s head suddenly shot up. “Hallowe’en rocks, man. And Skeleton Jack!”

Dean nodded in agreement. “He totally _understands_ me!

Bobby shook his head sadly and explained the yearly tradition.

“Do you think they could be related?” Castiel asked. “The transformations and this holiday?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Maybe, but who knows? Look, I know these guys are schooling you on human stuff like pie and cars and disguising weird sexual tension by bickering all the time, but here’s one great truth from me. Idjits are gonna be idjits, no matter what time of year it is.”

Castiel decided that Bobby was a very wise man.

***

Ellen came running out as soon as they arrived. “I’ve tried everything,” she exclaimed. “I’ve used exorcism, done healing spells, taken away her iPhone. Nothing is working!”

Castiel left Bobby to console the worried mother and entered the house. Then he stopped, stunned.

Jo Harvelle was dressed in a lacy black corset and a long leather skirt, Castiel’s eyes darted from the fishnet stockings peeking out from under the skirt to the spiked collar around her neck and then, inevitably, to the two mounds of flesh the tight foundation garment so prominently displayed. All of the blood in his vessel was flowing to unfamiliar places, leaving him with only one coherent thought.

_This look is SO much better on women!_

Unfortunately, Sam and Dean were not struck but the same revelation. They immediately crowded around Jo, offering her cheap red wine and baggies of strange herbs in exchange for being allowed to borrow her black nail polish. To make matters even worse, Jo clearly dismissed Castiel as one of the unaffected and ignored him completely. So he was relegated to doing research with her mother and Bobby.

And that research was a daunting task. Bobby did have the brilliant idea of Googling _I want everyone to be goth and I have magical powers_ , but that turned up 762395 different tumblrs, and there didn’t seem to be anyway of narrowing them down. Bobby and Ellen finally collapsed, exhausted, and Castiel stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

“Why are you allowing this to happen?” Castiel demanded of the unresponsive sky. “You leave me all alone, with no help and no guidance; you let my family turn against me. And somehow I manage to find friends, real _friends_ , and you let them be turned into whiny pale abominations! Why, Father? Why are you doing this to me?”

He turned to see the Winchesters and Jo regarding him curiously. 

Jo approached Castiel with interest. “Do your parents not understand you? Have they let you down?” She reached up, stroking Castiel’s cheek. Her tongue darted out, licking at her lips. “That’s... really hot.”

Castiel couldn’t believe his luck. “It _is?_ ”

“Totally.” She started sliding her hands under his clothes, and then stopped. “I’m not sure about this though.” She fingered the lapel of his coat. “This jacket... it’s totally _mainstream_.”

Desperate, Castiel stared hopelessly over her head at the Winchesters. Something stirred in Dean’s eyes and Castiel saw a flicker of the old Dean fighting the curse - the Dean who was Castiel’s best friend and always had his back. The Dean who had once promised to get him laid.

“I don’t know, Jo,” Dean said. “I mean, Neo wore a trenchcoat.”

Jo shrugged. “Good enough!” And she pressed her mouth against Castiel’s.

***

The next morning saw Castiel flat on his back, stunned and sated and seriously rethinking the whole ‘God hates me’ thing. 

Unfortunately, Jo was far less contented. “Listen, last night was great and all, but I don’t know if I can do this again.” She toyed with his cast-off tie dispiritedly. “I mean, it’s a suit. It’s a _business suit_. Don’t you get what that means?”

“My vessel had a paying job?”

Jo flopped back on the bed and let loose with the refrain that Castiel had become so sick of hearing. “You just don’t _UNDERSTAND_.”

Castiel rose and walked towards the mirror. He had remnants of Jo’s white face powder on his own cheeks and forehead; her black lipstick had rubbed off his mouth. He turned back to her and she rolled away sadly, facing the wall. 

And displaying her gorgeous rear end.

Castiel shrugged and reached for her make-up bag. At least he'd be seasonal.


End file.
